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D  AVI  D 

POET 
AND  KING 


NEWELL  DWIGHT  HILLIS 


fLLC7<STRJT£D  gy 

LOVI6  RdHEAD 


19  0  1 

CHICAGO  NEW  YORK  TORONTO 

FLEMING  H.  RjEVELL  COMPANY 


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jS 


YAss 


COPYRIGHT,  1900,  1901,  BY 

FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 
ENTERED  AT  STATIONERS’  HALL 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


t Ar  Ox) 


FACING  PAGES 


DAVID  PLAYING  THE  HARP  IN 

THE  FIELDS  .  .  .  Title 

DAVID  ANOINTED  BY  SAMUEL 

AT  BETHLEHEM  ...  9 

DAVID  PLAYING  THE  HARP  BE¬ 
FORE  SAUL  .  .  .  .11 

DAVID,  WITH  A  SLING,  KILLS 

GOLIATH  .....  14. 

SAUL  CASTS  HIS  JAVELIN  AT 

DAVID . 19 

THE  PARTING  OF  DAVID  AND 

JONATHAN  ....  22 

DAVID  ANOINTED  KING  IN 

HEBRON . 27 


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t  '+1^  <■»,  >  vj*  V.  .Jw 


DAVID  BRINGS  THE  ARK  TO 

JERUSALEM  .  .  .  *3° 


NATHAN  TELLS  DAVID  OF  HIS 

SIN  ......  35 

DAVID’S  CHILD  DIES  ...  38 

THE  DEATH  OF  ABSALOM  .  .  43 

DAVID  MOURNING  FOR  ABSALOM  46 


DAVID  ANOINTED  BY  SAMUEL  AT  BETHLEHEM 


/ 


David,  the  Poet  and  King 

THE  ROMANCE  AND  TRAGEDY  OF 


HIS  ^CAREER  AND  FALL,  AND  THE 
GfciiY  OF  HIS  RECOVERY  ALSO 

Y  common  consent 
David  is  one  of  the  most 
fascinating  figures  in  his¬ 
tory.  He  stands  forth 
w °f  genius,  ample  in  faculty, 
ferlttl-!  in  resource,  and  rich  in  all 
tho§£  qualities  that  stir  admiration 
and  evoke  love.  His  life  was  full 
of  contrasts,  honours,  misfortunes, 
sufferings  and  victory.  He  was  a 
poet,  and,  like  Robert  Burns,  the 
Hebrew  minstrel  was  as  sensitive 
as  an  /Eolian  harp,  now  thrilling 
with  the  keenest  delights  and  now 
throbbing  with  the  sharpest  ago¬ 
nies  ;  like  Burns,  too,  David  was 
slain  at  last  by  the  stormy  splen- 


dours  of  his  youthful  passions.  He 
was  a  soldier,  and,  like  Napoleon, 
he  moved  among  his  fellows 
clothed  with  that  irresistible  fas¬ 
cination  that  only  the  greatest 
leaders  have  possessed.  He  was  a 
king,  and,  like  England’s  Alfred,  he 
found  his  people  a  group  of  rude 
outlaws  and  unorganized  tribes ; 
yet  by  sheer  force  of  leadership  he 
transformed  the  mob  into  an  army, 
organized  customs  into  laws,  de¬ 
veloped  a  commerce  for  his  people, 
and  made  a  place  for  himself  among 
those  whom  Lord  Bacon  called 
“the  architects  of  states.”  Early 
in  his  career  he  was  overtaken  by 
misfortune,  and  finding  himself  a 
target  for  jealous  attack,  David 
went  forth  a  wanderer  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth,  the  leader  of  a 
band  of  outlaws,  with  a  price  set 
upon  his  head. 


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DAVID  PLAYING  THE  HARP  BEFORE  SAUL 


iOBERT  BRUCE,  sleep¬ 
ing  peacefully  in  the  cave 
in  front  of  which  the  spi- 
-  der  was  spinning  his  web, 
^fjjflrile  his  enemieswere  search- 
ing^pt  his  hiding  place,  won  the  ad- 
minpon  and  almost  worship  of  his 
clansmen  through  his  disregard  for 
his  own  life  and  his  solicitude  for 
the  lives  of  his  followers.  But  to 
personal  bravery  David  added  chiv¬ 
alry.  In  the  hour  when  King  Saul, 
overcome  by  exhaustion,  fell  asleep 
in  the  cave,  and  fortune  gave  the 
royal  enemy  into  his  hands,  David’s 
spirit  rose  above  jealousy  and  ha¬ 
tred.  He  cut  off  the  skirts  of  Saul’s 
garment,  and  passed  on,  doing  his 
enemy  no  injury.  His  brave  heart 
and  his  stainless  life  remind  us  of 
Tennyson’s  Sir  Galahad,  whose 

“  hand  was  as  the  strength  of  ten, 
because  his  heart  was  pure.” 


ii 


*,«*«» 

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-  1  1^— 


F,  like  Dante,  David  was 
bard  and  singer,  he  was 
also  like  the  great  Flor¬ 
entine  in  the  sorrows  of 
ht^jsfTe.-  Having  no  abiding  place, 
anSps^andering  like  a  partridge  on 
the  mountains,  the  poet  journeyed 
from  village  to  village  heart-broken 
because  he  was  unloved  and  un¬ 
cared  for.  Even  King  Lear,  going 
forth  from  his  palace  into  the  dark¬ 
ness,  the  falling  snow  and  pitiless 
hail,  knew  less  of  sorrow  in  the  hour 
when  he  realized  that  his  daughters 
had  ceased  to  love  him  than  King 
David  at  the  moment  his  favourite 
son  Absalom  fomented  rebellion 
and  plotted  against  his  father’s  life. 
To  the  end  of  time  the  agonies  of 
broken-hearted  fathers  will  find 
their  most  perfect  expression  in 
David’s  lament  for  his  son  :  “  Oh, 

Absalom,  my  son,  my  son  Absalom! 

12 


God  I  had  died  for  thee, 
Qja||ft$alom,  my  son,  my  son.” 

HAT  contrasts  in  this 
strangely  coloured  ca¬ 
reer!  He  was  a  peasant 
boy,  court  minstrel,  chos- 
e'f^fiipurite  of  the  young  prince,  the 
chs^tpion  of  the  army,  the  con¬ 
quering  hero,  borne  upon  the 
shoulders  of  the  people  through 
the  streets,  the  rival  of  the  king 
himself  for  the  affections  of  the 
people;  then  leaping  into  the  throne 
itself,  he  becomes  law-maker,  \ 
general,  bard,  commercial  leader,  i 
statesman :  Made  soft  by  luxury, 
weakened  by  flattery,  in  an  evil 
hour  David  yields  to  his  passions,  ! 
and  sin  sweeps  through  his  life 
like  a  conflagration  sweeping 
through  a  city  and  leaving  only 
blackened  timbers  and  ashes  be¬ 
hind.  Then  comes  the  swift,  sharp 


8f»SS 


aw 


repentance,  the  open  restitution, 
the  instant  and  public  confession, 
the  self-abasement,  the  years  of 
pain,  the  Psalms  and  prayers  that 
plead  for  man’s  pity  and  for  God’s 
pardon.  Never  was  there  a  more 
lovable  youth !  Never  a  career  so 
rich  and  romantic !  Never  man 
who  climbed  so  high  and  fell  so 
low  1  Never  one  whose  repent¬ 
ance  was  more  absolute  and  all- 
inclusive.  Never  one  who  fought 
his  way  so  persistently  back 
toward  the  heights  where  good 
men  dwell.  Grateful  to  God  for 
the  lives  of  all  the  Old  Testament 
heroes  from  Moses  to  Paul,  to  the 
end  of  time  the  prodigal  and  publi¬ 
can  will  be  chiefly  grateful  for  the 
life  and  career  of  David,  the  Old 
Testament  prodigal,  who  epito¬ 
mizes  for  us  man’s  defeats  through 

*4 


DAVID,  WITH  A  SLING,  KILLS  GOLIATH 


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sin,Hpd  his  recovery  also  through 
Qo^pi^edeeming  mercy. 

"  '  'I^REAT  as  were  David’s 
achievements  in  the 
realm  of  commerce  and 
government,  his  influ- 
eB^pftiefly  manifest  in  the  realm 
of  ia|[jigion,  through  his  songs  and 
Psal'fis.  What  the  Iliad  did  for 
Greece  ;  what  Dante’s  Inferno  and 
Paradiso  did  for  the  Renaissance  in 
Italy ;  what  the  Niebelungen  did 
|  for  the  German  tribes;  what  the 
J  legends  of  King  Arthur  did  to  de¬ 
velop  the  age  of  Chivalry;  that  and 
more  David’s  songs  did  for  the 
1  ancient  Church  and  the  Jewish 
people.  For  religion  is  chiefly  of 
the  heart  and  conscience.  What 
the  soldier,  the  king,  and  the  law¬ 
maker  cannot  do,  the  poet  easily 
accomplishes.  Tools,  laws,  mate¬ 
rial  wealth,  are  only  the  exterior 


I 


manifestation  of  an  interior  wealth. 
Civilization,  therefore,  begins  with 
the  enrichment  of  the  affections 
and  of  the  aspirations.  It  ends 
with  the  culture  of  the  intellect 
and  the  development  of  comforts 
and  conveniences.  If  Moses’  laws 
laid  the  foundation,  David’s  Psalms 
and  songs  built  the  superstructure. 
It  is  given  to  no  historian  to  write 
the  full  story  of  the  influence  of 
David’s  Psalter.  Singing  the  46th 
Psalm,  Polycarp  went  toward  his 
funeral  pile  as  did  Savonarola. 
Strengthened  by  this  psalm,  Martin 
Luther  braved  his  enemies  at 
Worms.  Cromwell’s  soldiers  also 
marched  forth  to  their  battle  and 
victory  at  Marston  Moor,  chanting 
the  Psalms  of  David.  Dean  Stanley 
tells  us  that  with  the  words  of  a 
psalm  upon  their  lips,  Columba, 
Hildebrand,  Bernard,  Francis  of  As¬ 
sisi,  Huss,  Columbus,  Xavier,  Me- 


laamon  and  Locke  breathed  their 
la$fc*S .... 

LL  the  experiences  of  hu¬ 
man  life  seem  to  have 
been  emptied  into  Da¬ 
vid’s  single  career,  that 
know  how  to  interpret  the 
unfvtej$al  elements  of  the  human 
rac§|>:‘Coming  from  the  sheep  pas¬ 
tures,  made  a  leader  and  conqueror, 
enthroned  in  the  palace,  exiled  in  the 
wilderness  with  its  solitude,  he  en¬ 
tered  into  sympathy  with  peasants 
and  shepherds,  with  princes  and 
kings,  with  poets  and  jurists,  and 
was  fitted  to  be  the  inspirer  and 
comforter  of  the  early  martyrs,  the 
Huguenots  and  Waldenses,  hiding 
in  their  dens  and  caves  in  time  of 
revolution,  while  the  exiled  mourn¬ 
ers,  the  unknown  minstrels,  the 
disappointed  leaders,  have  alike 
turned  toward  the  Psalms  of  David 


for  medicine,  guidance,  comfort  and 
inspiration.  “  He  only  who  knows 
the  number  of  the  waves  of  the 
ocean  and  the  abundance  of  tears 
in  the  human  eye,  he  who  sees  the 
sighs  of  the  heart  before  they  are 
uttered,  and  he  who  hears  them 
still  when  they  are  hushed  into 
silence,  he  alone  can  tell  how  many 
holy  emotions,  how  many  heaven¬ 
ly  vibrations  have  been  produced 
and  will  ever  be  produced,  in  the 
souls  of  men,  by  the  reverberation 
of  these  marvellous  strains,  of  these 
predestined  hymns,  read,  meditat¬ 
ed,  sung  in  every  hour  of  day  and 
night,  in  every  winding  of  the  Vale 
of  Tears.  The  Psalter  of  David  is 
like  a  mystic  harp,  hung  on  the 
walls  of  the  true  Zion.  Under  the 
breath  of  the  Spirit  of  God  it  sends 
forth  its  infinite  varieties  of  devo¬ 
tion,  which,  rolling  on  from  echo 

18 


SAUL  CASTS  HIS  JAVELIN  AT  DAVID 


mi 


m 


to  echo,  from  soul  to  soul,  awakes 
in  each  a  spirit  note,  mingling  in 
that  one  prolonged  voice  of  thank¬ 
fulness  and  penitence,  praise  and 

»*/•♦)  •  V'Y**  • 

OR  the  most  part  the 
songs  of  David  are  carols 
ofjoy  and  victory.  They 
are  full  of  praise  and  ex- 
They  see  God’s  good- 
nea^verywhere  and  delight  in  it. 
Midst  all  the  din  and  upheaval  of 
life,  the  tranquility  of  the  Shepherd 
Psalm  seems  deep  and  pure  as  a 
river.  But  if  the  early  Psalms  rep¬ 
resent  the  freshness  of  the  soul’s 
love,  the  unfaded  spiritual  instincts, 
the  days  “when  the  heart  was 
young”;  the  later  songs  represent 
the  great  deep  things  of  remorse, 
conscience,  penitence,  and  pardon. 
What  a  tragedy  is  the  story  of 
David’s  sin  against  Uriah,  and 


Nathan's  indictment  of  the  guilty 
king  through  his  story  of  the  peas¬ 
ant  with  his  pet  lamb  1  What  re¬ 
morse  in  the  6th  Psalm  !  How  is 
every  line  blotted  with  tears,  and 
heavy  with  grief  and  shame  1  The 
51st  Psalm  seems  like  the  sob  of  a 
heart  wounded  nigh  unto  death. 
Analysis  of  its  broken  confessions 
and  bitter  cries  for  pardon  seems 
cold-blooded.  It  is  as  if  a  photog¬ 
rapher  should  intrude  a  camera 
into  the  death  chamber,  to  snap 
the  button  in  the  moment  of  su¬ 
preme  grief.  It  is  as  if  some 
scientist  should  stealthily  take  note 
before  the  door  beyond  which 
prays  some  broken-hearted  prodi¬ 
gal.  David,  the  king,  crowned 
with  all  the  genius  of  the  world’s 
greatest  powers,  through  passion 
has  been  shorn  of  his  goodness  and 
beauty.  Self-indulgent,  be  linger¬ 
ed  in  his  luxurious  palace  at  the 


very  hour  when  stern  duty  called 
him  to  the  battle-field.  Tempted, 
the  king  was  untrue  to  his  people, 
the  soldier  false  to  the  chivalry  of 
arms,  the  friend  betrayed  his  friend. 
Uri^h,  first  spoiled  of  his  happi- 
nesllcwas  set  in  the  forefront  of 
bflltevand  made  to  fall  on  death. 

arose  Nemesis,  the 
avenger.  Conscience 
scourged  the  wicked  king 
out  into  the  night  with  its 
and  its  hissing  storm, 
lere  was  no  softness  in  the 
midifight  sky  for  guilty  David  ; 
only  cold,  blue  marble  that  steadily 
blazed  and  never  relented  and  was 
never  tired.  Because  conscience 
was  in  him,  like  a  thousand  flam¬ 
ing  swords,  the  man  feared  to  risk 
himself  out  under  the  accusing 
stars.  His  anguish  was  the  anguish 
of  Eugene  Aram,  “  exceeding  bit- 


ter.”  His  woe  the  woe  of  Macbeth, 
who,  sleeping,  moaned  and  still 
moaned,  “This  red  right  hand,  the 
multitudinous  seas  it  would  encar- 
nadine,  making  the  green  all  red.” 
The  guilty  secret  that  crushed  him 
seemed  like  the  burden  of  a  thou- 
sanJpPonatellos  and  Lady  Mac- 
bptS^Qjled  into  one. 

^OARSE  men  and  unthink¬ 
ing  have  despised  David 
for  his  crimes,  and  con¬ 
fessed  surprise  that  his 
sotigsiat'e  in  the  Psalter,  and  that 
hist6M  has  made  a  place  for  David 
amolg  the  heroes  of  the  faith.  Ig¬ 
norance  and  shallowness  may  sneer 
that  the  gifted  poet  made  up  for 
black  crime  by  psalms,  and  that 
God  thinks  lightly  of  foul  sins, 
since  these  songs,  red  with  blood 
4  and  black  with  guilt,  are  bound  up 
in  his  Bible.  But  the  sneer  is  both 


I 

THE  PARTING  OF  DAVID  AND  JONATHAN 


superficial  and  unjust.  Let  us  con¬ 
fess  that  David’s  songs  are  rooted 
in  foul  crimes,  and  that,  like  the 
“  bruised  reed,”  he  is  broken  by  in¬ 
iquity.  'Nevertheless  there  is  a  sense 
in  which  heroic  men  and  heroic 
deeds  are  sparks  struck  out  in  sin's 
fierce  fires.  It  is  only  the  black 
thunder  clouds  that  have  rainbows 
in  their  depths,  when  the  sun 
smites  them.  The  native  richness 
of  a  field  is  shown  by  the  wealth  of 
thorns  and  thistles,  not  less  than 
by  the  wealth  of  wheat.  The  su¬ 
premely  magnificent  way  in  which 
Satan  plays  the  devil  in  “  Paradise 
Lost,”  tells  us  that  essentially  he 
is  an  angel  who  has  fallen.  Stones 
do  not  decay,  they  are  too  low  in 
the  scale  of  being.  But  apples  de¬ 
cay,  and  the  depth  of  decay  to 
which  they  fall  proves  the  height 
of  juicy  richness  to  which  they 


first&ose.  Men  fall  1  Ah  1  that 

ntfjaifefthat  they  first  rose. 

^  ^  ®  ^  ® 

||S)HE  names  of  the  great 
men  are  the  names  of 
men  who  struggled  unto 
blood,  resisting  passions 
^{tti|h?®dnd  temptations  without. 
Th&jgreat  epic  dramas  are  less  than 
a  sc@re  in  number,  and  all  are  based 
upon  some  experience  akin  to 
David’s.  In  jurisprudence  we  men¬ 
tion  Moses.  Now  Moses  was  a 
murderer.  In  song,  David  walks 
with  Dante.  Now  David  com¬ 
passed  Uriah’s  death.  In  literature  no 
writing  is  more  famous  than  Paul’s 
ode  to  “the  love  that  never  fail- 
eth.”  But  Paul’s  garments  were 
stained  with  Stephen’s  blood.  In 
the  dramas,  we  mention  Hamlet 
and  Lear  and  Macbeth,  but  all  these 
pages  are  dark  with  grievous  sins. 


The  great  epics  are  three.  But  the 
“Iliad,”  the  “  Inferno,”  and  “Para- 
disjpk.ost,”  are  all  stories  of  con- 
flidj^r^ith  sin  and  passion. 
rfrr^l^ROM  David  to  Paul,  the 
heroes  are  not  soft  youths 
lingering  on  languorous 
violet  beds.  They  are 
M^taS'pushing  their  way  into  the 
thic||;of  battle,  and  either  slaying 
sin,  or  are  carried  off  the  field  upon 
their  shields.  Not  that  heroism 
and  character  are  impossible  with¬ 
out  sin  ;  rather  that  the  noblest 
human  character  has  a  dark  back¬ 
ground.  All  the  great  events  of 
history  and  all  the  beacon  fires  that 
guide  the  generations  upward,  are 
lights  shining  out  of  sin’s  darkness. 
Liberty  itself  seems  the  more  glori¬ 
ous,  standing  out  against  the  dark¬ 
ness  of  the  slave  market  and  the 
cotton  field.  Florence  Nightingale 


mmmm 


is  more  of  an  angel  of  light  in  con¬ 
trast  with  the  demonism  of  war  in 
crimes.  We  should  never  have 
had  the  beautiful  parable  of  the 
prodigal  son  but  for  the  boy  whose 
bitter  repentance  rests  back  upon 
PtolMtsTiving  and  swine  and  husks. 

of  the  vineyards 
about  Naples  is  burnt 
lava.  There  the  rich 
grapes,  from  which  the 
wine  is  made,  grow  out 
ofogtyptions  which  tore  out  the 
moiifltain  side  and  darkened  all 
the  sky.  Our  sweetest  nuts  be¬ 
come  edible  only  through  the 
sharp  blows  of  frost.  Lincoln  always 
loved  his  country,  but  the  people 
did  not  know  that  liberty  was  a 
name  engraven  on  his  very  heart. 
Since  war  came,  we  half  hail  our 
country’s  woe,  because  it  gave 
Lincoln  a  chance  to  reveal  himself. 


m 


K 


/ 


r 


DAVID  ANOINTED  KING  IN  HEBRON 


Calvary  itself  is  a  light  that  shines 
the  .  brighter,  because  of  the  dark 
background  of  cruelty  and  sin 
against  which  it  is  projected. 
When  scholars  can  square  the  cir¬ 
cle,  turn  dust  into  gold,  make 
motion  perpetual,  make  a  stick 
with  one  end,  or  a  board  with  one 
side,  then  will  they  know  why 
evil  was  permitted.  Until  then, 
earth’s  purest  souls,  like  Thomas  a 
Kempis  and  Fenelon,  will  chiefly 
love  the  psalm  of  David’s  blood- 
guiltiness.  Its  words  also  will 
have  transference  to  our  classic 
hymns  and  literature,  and  these 
pages  that  tell  the  story  of  the 
weeping  poet  will  be  worn  by  the 
reading,  and  wet  by  the  tears  of 
innumerable  pilgrims  toward  per¬ 
fection.  Earth’s  roses  grow  white 
out  of  black  soil.  Earth’s  snow¬ 
drops  spring  up  where  great  trees 


4ii 


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IC3\2/eD\ 

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1 

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fell  down.  God’s  law  seems  the 
whiter,  His  mercy  the  brighter, 
over^against  the  blackness  of  David’s 
cry^ijand  the  bitterness  of  his  re- 
shame. 

Ki-invii'isu.-ia^N’S  hemispheric  nature 
has  strange  exhibition  in 
David’s  life  and  career. 
O  wondrous  contradic- 
mingled  good  and  bad 
in  !  Like  our  planet,  the  soul 
is  a’f£  orb,  one-half  midday,  one- 
half  midnight.  In  the  morning  the 
finest  sensibilities  are  uppermost. 
At  eventide  the  worst  passions  con¬ 
trol.  Now  man  sings  just  beside 
heaven’s  gate,  now  he  wallows  in 
the  mire.  The  words  of  Robert 
Burns  are  ever  in  the  mind  :  “  Half 
beast,  half  saint;  half  demon,  half 
divine.”  Now  the  soul,  sending 
its  pure  thought  upward,  seems 
like  the  sea  exhaling  white  mists 

28 


heavenward  ;  now  the  soul  seems 
an  orb,  falling  “three  times  the 
space  twixt  sunny  noon  and  dewy 
eve.”  In  vision  hour  the  ancient 
poet  saw  man  as  an  image,  half 
bronze,  half  iron.  But  the  modern 
scientist  beholds  man  as  half  gold, 
half  clay.  But  yesterday,  Words¬ 
worth  reflected,  “  In  the  highest 
moods  of  the  best,  the  germs  of 
the  worst  deeds  lie  quiescent.”  To 
which  Emerson  replies,  “In  our 
deepest  degradation  there  remains 
in  us  some  divinely  good,  the 
pledge  and  prophecy  of  future  great¬ 
ness.”  Our  best  literature  is  filled 
with  these  strange  contrasts.  Dick¬ 
ens  studies  this  two-fold  develop¬ 
ment.  His  Oliver  Twist,  the  em¬ 
bodiment  of  purity  and  innocence, 
is  made  to  come  from  the  work- 
house  and  Fagin’s  den  :  this  dove 
was  reared  in  a  nest  of  wasps.  But 


<9S@ 


ms 


Monks,  whose  foot  was  on  the 
spring  of  the  trap-door,  which 
would  let  his  enemy  into  the  dark 
well  beneath,  beguiles  his  victim 
by  recollections  of  childhood  and 
the  sweet  home  delights  :  here,  a 
serpent  who  was  reared  in  a  dove’s 
nest.  In  his  famous  hymn,  Byron 
sings  like  a  seraph,  but  his  “Don 
Juan  ”  is  the  song  of  seven  devils. 
Lingering  in  Geneva,  the  poet's 
heart  was  touched  to  issues  celes¬ 
tial,  ;but  only  a  week  later,  in  Ve- 
vayf%e  began  his  songs  of  “the 
■yM&.the  flesh,  and  the  devil.” 

AN  anything  be  more 
sublimely  beautiful  than 
Coleridge’s  Hymn  to 
Mont  Blanc  ?  Can  aught 
brutish  than  the  poet  crazed 
by |pm  eating?  Reading  Chau- 
cer’^and  Shakespeare’s  creations, 
ideal  in  their  perfect  beauty,  our 


DAVID  BRINGS  THE  ARK  TO  JERUSALEM 


- 


■ 

'  . 

- 


. 

■vl  .  4 

•  ■ 


=,\' 


. '  ;• 


, 


. 


wonder  grows  with  our  growing 
life.  But  even  our  Chaucer  and  our 
Shakespeare  are  read  in  expurgated 
editions.  Humble  men,  too,  repre¬ 
sent  mingled  good  and  bad.  There  is 
honour  among  thieves.  Robbers 
who  have  no  hesitancy  in  waylay¬ 
ing  a  belated  citizen,  will,  when 
brought  to  the  prisoner’s  dock,  ex¬ 
hibit  the  keenest  sense  of  honour 
in  shielding  each  other.  Most  won¬ 
drous  man’s  hemispheric  nature ! 
Called  by  the  writers  of  old,  flesh 
and  spirit ;  called  by  scientists, 
brain  and  body ;  called  of  poets, 
“our  better  nature”  and  “our 
worse  ”  :  a  double  nature  exhibited 
in  this  scene  of  the  sinning  poet 
and  the  weeping  king,  who,  despite 
his  sins,  has  helped  all  the  genera¬ 
tions  heavenward.  Perhaps  David’s 
sins  are  danger-signals,  set  in  life’s 
tangled  perplexing  wilderness. 


>i«A  «  « 


HROUGH  David  we  learn 
that  innocence  is  not 
character.  Indeed,  the 
comparative  worthless- 
n'es^if Innocence  has  here  a  strik- 
ing5§ftxhibition.  Plainly,  mere  ab¬ 
sence  ot  scars  through  sin  is  not 
goodness.  The  boy  David,  steal¬ 
ing  like  a  sweet  sunbeam  into  Saul’s 
palace,  brought  with  him  the  shep¬ 
herd's  flute  and  his  innocent  heart. 
But  his  armour  against  evil  was  an 
ice  armour.  It  quickly  melted  in 
the  heat  of  temptation.  Soon  the 
throne  and  the  sceptre  brought 
opportunity  for  indulgence.  Then 
into  the  mire  he  straightway 
plunged.  His  innocence  proved  to 
be  mere  lack  of  opportunity.  The 
youth  who  led  his  flocks  to  the 
hills,  greeting  the  morning  with 
burst  of  song,  was  not  one  whit 
better  than  David  the  king,  who 
set  Uriah  in  the  forefront  of  battle, 


3 i 


who  first  broke  his  friend’s  heart 
and-  then  slew  him.  Innocence 
and  character  stand  widely  apart, 
even  as  the  weedless  furrows  of 
April  are  separated  far  from  the 
August  fields,  white  unto  the  har¬ 
vests.  Innocence  is  a  white  page, 
unspotted  to  be  sure.  It  is  white 
because  no  pen  has  been  laid  there¬ 
on.  Character  is  the  same  page, 
blotted  indeed  with  ink,  and  thick 
with  scars  where  the  keen  knife 
cut  out  the  black  stains.  Innocence 
is  unhewn  marble.  It  is  spotless 
because  untouched  of  chisel.  Char¬ 
acter  is  the  marble  carved  by  the 
tookof  temptation,  struck  by  fierce 
b Ioffes. of  passion,  and  fashioned  at 
IffS&Mto  the  likeness  of  sons  of  God. 

RON  newly  digged  out  of 
the  hills  and  innocent  of 
the  fire  is  worthless  to¬ 
ward  the  battlefield.  It 


fi§8f 


33  **^JV*; 


into  hissing  water,  slowly  temper¬ 
ed  toward  sharpness,  that  flashes  a 
blade  worthy  of  the  patriot’s  hand. 
Character  and  culture  are  like 
colours  on  beauteous  porcelain, 
they  must  be  burned  in.  Tempt- 
able  men  are  not  contemptible. 
Men’s  vices  are  often  their  unripe 
virtues.  Multitudes  are  slain 
through  geniality  and  openness, 
through  exuberant  kindness  and 
cordial  good  fellowship.  Often¬ 
times  the  rise  of  virtue  means  the 
expenditure  of  the  vital  forces. 
Many  subdue  their  flaming  passions, 
as  travellers  cross  mountain  streams, 
by  waiting  until  the  freshet  has 
subsided,  and  they  can  go  over  dry 
shod.  David,  pure  for  want  of  oppor¬ 
tunity  to  be  impure,  stands  for  inno¬ 
cence,  but  character  is  represented 
in  Jesus  Christ,  who  resisted  unto 
blood,  striving  against  sin. 


I 


* 


/ 


■ 


:  .  /S'.  •  ■■  ■  •  ”  :  *  '  ’  "  ; 


.A: 


NATHAN  TELLS  DAVID  OF  HIS  SIN 


(M 


M 


ERILY,  that  youth  who 
carried  an  unsullied  heart 
was  not  nearly  so  good 
a  man  as  the  David  who 
'fed,  but  afterward  struggled 
upwptl,  and,  midst  fierce  attacks, 
maintained  his  integrity.  Life’s 
most  beautiful  sight  is  not  the  child, 
pure  and  sweet  though  it  be. 
Childhood  is  a  bough  of  unblos¬ 
somed  buds.  Youth  is  a  bundle 
of  ungrown  roots.  Life’s  most 
beautiful  sight  is  not  the  child 
crowned  with  beauty  and  full  of  all 
exuberant  song.  Youth  also  wants 
in  richness  and  variety,  lacks  ripe¬ 
ness  and  fullness.  Life’s  most 
glorious  sight  is  a  man  ;  standing 
in  life’s  waning  light,  softened  by 
suffering,  cultured  by  adversity, 
with  faculties  tempered  by  temp¬ 
tation  ;  it  may  be  scarred  deeply 
by  the  sins  of  his  youth,  but  whose 


deepest  hunger  is  for  righteousness, 
and  who  confesses  himself  a  pilgrim 
toward  perfection.  Therefore,  Dr. 
Hitchcock  said,  "good  men  are 
veterans  of  the  Old  Guard,  coming 
in  frpm  life’s  fierce  frontier,  batter- 
ed  jfel  scarred,  to  j  udge  the  angels, 
duty  at  home.” 
EFLECTING  upon  life’s 
critical  hours,  each  aspir¬ 
ing  heart  will  ask  what 
goes  to  make  up  a  great 
Sm|$Jpiinly,  not  rude,  outbreaking 
crih|^  nor  tumultuous  transgres- 
sion|:’  Extraordinary  sins  quickly 
repented  of  are  not  quickly  repeat¬ 
ed.  Donatello  pushed  no  second 
stranger  over  the  battlement.  Jean 
Valjean  robbed  no  second  bishop 
of  his  silver  candlesticks.  David 
never  sent  a  second  Uriah  in  the 
forefront  of  battle.  Society  is  not 
devastated  by  great  dramatic  crimes. 

36 


The  world’s  happiness  is  not  ruin¬ 
ed  by  colossal  sins.  Our  homes 
are  wrecked  by  minute  faults  and 
petty  selfishness.  The  earthquake 
that  made  the  beautiful  city  of 
Lisbon  a  heap  of  ruins  did  less  to 
impoverish  Portugal  than  the  lazi¬ 
ness  of  its  citizens  during  a  single 
summer.  The  selfishness  and  the 
meanness  of  some  men  who  are 
called  blameless,  will  aggregate 
greater  weight  of  iniquity  than  the 
swpt^low  of  hands  murderous  for 

Qifff|ii6.fpent. 

~w‘‘‘  ^  Iff  RO WN  gray  and  wise, 
David  prays,  “Deliver 
y  „lf|!f  me  from  secret  sins.”  He 
Sy  had  learned  that  hidden 
like  the  fungus  in  the 
wi^^sks  ;  the  hidden  vegetable 
grotfjm  is  indeed  unsuspected,  yet 
it  drinks  up  all  the  precious  liquor 
to  feed  its  filthiness  and  leaves  the 


Tv 


cask  filled  only  with  a  foul  mass. 
Travellers  tell  us  that  the  ants  of 
India  will  honeycomb  furniture, 
leaving  only  the  thin  veneering.  It 
is  said  that  the  ants  of  Africa  will 
pick  white  the  bones  of  the  wound¬ 
ed  deer  quicker  than  the  wolf  or 
lion.  Engineers  tell  us  the  great 
cables  supporting  our  bridges  are 
not  so  much  threatened  by  projec¬ 
tiles  hurled  against  them  as  by  the 
impact  of  heat  and  cold,  and  the 
strokes  of  many  falling  feet,  which 
at  last  cause  the  atoms  to  loose  their 
grip  upon  each  other.  It  is  the 
petty  enemies  that  devastate  the 
world.  Our  roses  are  ruined  by 
aphides.  Our  water  is  vitiated  by 
unseen  germs.  The  fogs  that 
stay  commerce  are  made  up  of 
unseen  particles.  In  the  moral 
realm,  character  is  built  up  by 
small  virtues  and  torn  down  by 

38 


DAVID’S  CHILD  DIES 


\  V 


V 


4 


\ 


small  vices.  There  are  sharp  prac¬ 
tices  in  business,  trifling  deflections 
from  honour,  certain  lowerings  of 
the  standard  of  truthfulness,  a 
doubtful  use  of  double  motives  that 
is  more  than  two-edged  swords, 
and  these  bring  men  into  a  state  of 
character  worse  than  ever  David 
w.aSlat  his  worst,  though  he  was 
itn£j^%ably  bad. 

jgw)HE  very  keenness  of  Da- 
“,»  vid’s  anguish  and  re¬ 
morse  for  his  sin,  offers 
the  first  hope  of  his  re- 
'from  the  mire  of  sin.  A 
brilfefpt  English  essayist  has  writ¬ 
ten  '^m  essay  on  the  “  Decline  of 
Lying.”  Some  who  have  read  his 
book  think  it  would  have  been 
more  to  the  purpose  had  his  theme 
been  “Remorse  as  a  Lost  Art.” 
That  author  or  generation  that  has 
lost  power  to  feel  badly,  has  gone 


39 


very  far  toward  the  pit  and  demon¬ 
hood.  The  blame  of  Judas  is  that 
his  conscience  was  hard  and  horny, 
like  unto  some  calloused  hand  that 
picks  up  a  hot  iron.  The  praise  of 
David  is  that  sin  cut  a  bloody  gash 
in  his  conscience.  Christ  looked 
tenderly  upon  the  poor,  bruised 
reed  weeping  at  His  feet,  for  He 
kng^  that  she  who  could  weep 
iifefiyittle  child  at  the  memory  of 
het?S&;had  still  much  good  within. 
HEN  sensitiveness  to  sin 
goes,  God’s  mercy  goes 
also.  A  paralyzed  optic 
nerve  blots  out  a  sun 
million  of  miles  in  dia- 
Contrariwise,  a  great  as- 
trorllmer  tells  us  his  eye  was, 
through  training,  so  sensitive  to 
the  light  that,  coming  from  a 
darkened  room  to  his  great  tele¬ 
scope,  the  beam  of  sunlight  felled 

40 


him  like  a  blow  from  a  club.  Beauty 
is  one-half  in  canvas,  and  one-half 
in  the  eye  that  sees.  Music  is  one- 
half  melody,  and  the  other  half  in 
the  sensitive  ear.  It  has  been 
wisely  said  that  “medicine  gets  its 
meaning  from  sickness,  liberty  from 
bondage,  culture  from  a  sense  of 
ignorance,  pardon  from  a  sense  of 
sinfulness.”  Therefore,  a  bad  man 
is  not  one  who  does  a  bad  deed. 
Witness  the  mother  in  whose  heart 
anger  may  temporarily  displace 
love.  Badness  means  a  loss  of  the 
sense  of  badness.  Poor  David  fall¬ 
en  into  the  mire,  wounded  grie¬ 
vously  by  sin,  but  longing  for  good¬ 
ness  with  a  pilgrim’s  longing  for  the 
spring,  is  a  wicked  man,  indeed, 
but  one  “not  far  from  the  kingdom 
of  God.”  When  Macbeth  falls  on 
the  battlefield  he  weeps  bitterly 
over  his  sin.  Thus  the  poet  tells 


us  Macbeth  was  not  utterly  lost, 
for  he,  like  David  and  the  girl 
weeping  before  Christ,  could  still 
feel  remorse  and  turn  heavenward. 
Salvation  begins  with  the  sense  of 
i  sin. a  David  has  been  earth’s  wis- 
ies.t.we.a  c h  e  r  regarding  remorse, 
faith,  and  pardon. 
URlibraries  hold  the  Con¬ 
fessions  of  Augustine, 
Rousseau,  and  of  Tolstoi. 
But  no  man  has  dealt 
rfr$|||$fernly  with  himself  than 
Daj\|Hj  His  pages  are  thick  with 
the '^expressions,  “My  transgres¬ 
sions,”  “my  iniquity,”  and  “my 
sins.”  Therefore  our  generation 
does  well  to  note  the  relation  be¬ 
tween  crisp,  vigorous  thinking 
about  sin,  and  a  fine,  keen  sense  of 
the  essential  badness  of  sin.  Per¬ 
haps  the  milk-and-water  terms  our 
generation  applies  to  iniquities  have 


iilii 

THE  DEATH  OF  ABSALOM 


helped  to  make  remorse  one  of  our 
lost  arts.  Clear  thinking  opens  up 
the  fountains  of  deep  feeling.  “My 
garments  are  blood-spotted,”  David 
cries,  and  of  course  he  revolted 
from  such  spots.  As  men  go  up 
toward  Emerson’s  fine  scholarship 
they  use  Emerson’s  keen,  discrim¬ 
inating  speech.  Growing  pure, 
lik.gfp^nelon,  men  adopt  Ffenelon’s 
wafiis^.that  flash  like  swords. 

""  '  ■  E  who  reads  Browning’s 

“Blot  on  the  Escutcheon” 
will  find  his  iniquities 
scorched  by  words  as 
bta|pg-lightnings  scorch  the  eye- 
baijfttj  The  essence  of  a  refined 
nature  is  such  sensitiveness  to  re¬ 
volting  things  as  to  forbid  any  fa¬ 
miliarity  with  the  synonyms  for 
wrong-doing.  Christ  was  ideal  in 
his  purity  of  thought,  and  he  named 
men  hypocrites,  vipers,  whited  sep- 


ulchres.  By  a  verbal  exhibition 
of  sin’s  ugliness,  he  made  men  see 
sin's  devilishness.  There  is  a  sickly 
sentimentalism  abroad  that  proposes 
to  cleanse  our  tenements  and  our 
jails  and  poorhouses  by  waving 
lavender  handkerchiefs  before 
our  alleys.  This  langourous  piety 
is  deeply  offended  because  of 
David’s  plain  talk  about  blood- 
guiltiness.  This  sickly  tendency 
emasculates  our  manhood,  takes 
the  iron  out  of  our  blood,  the  brawn 
out  of  our  politics,  the  sturdiness 
out  of  our  ethics,  the  law  and  justice 
out  of  our  theology.  We  miss  the 
direct,  open  speech  of  David  and 
Paul  in  our  modern  literature,  and 
we  miss  also  their  majesty,  their 
ring  and  fire  and  fine  fibre.  Per¬ 
haps  the  weak  language  of  our  sen¬ 
timental  age  has  made  our  epoch  to 
differ  from  Cromwell’s  and  Milton’s 


m 


as  roses  differ  from  oaks,  as  pleasure 
yachts  differ  from  warships.  Right 
thinking  determines  right  conduct 
a.n:i||gJi;a.racter. 

,''**  **#*♦'•**«  **•.*'*•  ' 

‘  iAVl  D'S  career  also  teaches 

us  that  life  is  a  battle* 

■from  the  cradle  to  the 

0 

that  when  the 


erf%0mes,  looking  back,  the  only 
evei$|;  worth  remembering  will  be 
our  floral  victories.  Then  tempta¬ 
tions  conquered  will  hang  on  the 
walls  of  memory  like  “the  swords 
and  shields  of  vanquished  enemies.” 
But  here  and  now  growth  is  through 
struggle.  Life  means  warfare.  As 
of  old  the  hero  flung  his  helmet 
far  into  the  ranks  of  the  enemy  and 
fought  his  way  through  until  he 
regained  it ;  so,  for  us  not  to  gain 
new  heights  is  to  confess  defeat. 
Earth’s  saddest  scenes  are  not  bat¬ 
tlefields  covered  with  heaps  of 


grave 


45 


dead.  Life’s  devastations  are  not 
storm-swept  fields  of '  cities  con¬ 
sumed  with  fire.  Earth  has  no 
scenes  so  sad  as  when  some  David 
forgets  that  God  has  taken  vows 
for  him  and  plunges  into  the  mire. 
And  man  might  well  lose  hope 
were  it  not  that  for  all  who  have 
been  devastated  by  passion  and 
scorched  by  sin,  there  comes  the 
thought  of  David’s  fall  and  his  re¬ 
covery  also.  For  the  wrongdoer 
there  is  still  hope.  God  is  on  the 
side  of  him  who  hath  stumbled  and 
gone  into  the  mire.  Go  where  man 
will,  put  far  away  mother,  country, 
conscience,  honour,  love,  but  for¬ 
get  not  that  one  heart,  the  Infinite, 
still  beats  true.  Die  where  man 
may,  in  the  wilderness  or  garret  or 
cell,  one  love  shines  like  a  star— 
God’s. 


DAVID  MOURNING  FOR  ABSALOM 


) 


V 


. 


g|gg)HO  UGH  man’s  hand 
j  holds  surgery  and  pun¬ 
ishment,  God’s  heart 
holds  healing  and  recu- 
ts'ot  because  man  is  bet- 
tenA|§n  he  thinks,  but  because  he 
is  infinitely  worse,  God  is  on  his 
side,  whispering  :  “  It  is  not  too 
late  to  mend.”  Beholding  the 
reed,  tall  and  slender,  and  trampled 
into  the  mire  by  foot  of  beast,  He 
let  fly  these  words :  “  Though 
thou  art  broken  utterly  like  the 
III  bruised  reed,  my  strength  shall  be 
ijs  tempered  to  gentleness  and  thou 
"  shalt  be  enabled  to  stand  upright 
and  recover  thyself.”  Discerning 
the  taper  freshly  lighted  and  ready 
to  go  out  at  the  slightest  breath  of 
wind,  He  said:  “Though  thy  as- 
*  piration  be  as  feeble  as  the  candle’s 
flicker,  yet  will  1  tend  and  nourish 
it  into  flaming  strength.”  Therefore, 


man  may  look  up,  have  hope,  and 
as  the  traveller  journeying  toward 
the  frozen  North  turns  toward  the 
tropics,  journey  toward  God.  God 
cared  for  David,  and  He  cares  for 
us.  And  what  Nathan  did  for  the 
sinning  king,  God  will  cause  events 
to  do  for  us.  Think  not  that  God  is  at 
one  end  of  the  universe  and  thyself 
at  the  other  and  between  a  vast  void, 
with  no  light  to  come  across,  no 
tender  voice,  no  gentle  touch. 
God  is  nigh  unto  thee.  And  God 
is  forgiveness.  God  is  sunshine. 
No  David  can  fall  so  low  but  that 
Christ’s  mercy  and  God’s  love  can 
lift  him  from  the  depths  of  selfish¬ 
ness  and  sin  back  to  the  throne  of 
manhood  and  the  sceptre  of  in¬ 
fluence. 


**■  A  K-—  - 


* 


